The Squib
by sherlockdrinkstea
Summary: Harry is born a squib, James is the youngest member of the Magical Law Enforcement, Sirius is on the run - from the Ministry and the police, and Lily is campaigning. Will Harry go to Hogwarts? Will Sirius's luck and exceptional charm hold out? Or will James betray his oldest friend for the job of a lifetime? Lots of fun, lots of friendship, and a series of dark twists to follow...
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction:**

Voldemort gave Harry more than just his scar and a penchant for parseltongue that night when he tried to kill him. He gave him his powers as well. But what if Voldemort never came to Godric's Hollow that night on Halloween? What if he had never tried to extinguish the Potters? James and Lily would still be alive, and Harry, dear young Harry Potter, would be born a squib..

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

Before Vernon Dursley worked at a firm called Grunnings (which made drills), he worked as a security guard in a posh bank in London. The pay was good, even if the hours were bad and the tea was awful. He was making some tea now – or, at least, attempting to.

"Blasted thing!" Vernon huffed, punching the kettle and then yowling in pain when he burnt his meaty knuckles. "Ruddy kettle… can't even make a decent cup of tea…" The unfortunate kettle had poured a clump of limescale into his teacup and was now sitting on the counter, hissing angrily at him. "PETUNIA!" Vernon bellowed, scrubbing his injured hand on his trousers and tipping the offending kettle's contents down the sink. There was a pause, then a nasally voice screeched,

"I'm coming!" and there was the thud of small feet scurrying down the stairs. "_Yes_, Vernon?" Petunia huffed. She was a small woman with a narrow face and even narrower neck. She worked as an accountant in the posh London bank and would often spy on him from the window of her cubicle as he made the rounds. Oh, how he despised her! There had been a point, up until a few months ago, when he had wanted to marry her. But then she had done something that had put him off. Their entire relationship had dissolved two months ago and things had been sour between them ever since.

"Good. You're here." He turned around with difficulty in the small kitchenette, grabbing a glass from a cupboard and filling it with whiskey. He sensed rather than saw her lips purse with disapproval. "The kettle's broken. Again." Satisfied that he had passed on the information, Vernon turned to leave. It was nearly nine o'clock and he had to do one more round of the underground car park before he went home.

The car park next to the bank was the biggest security threat that he had to worry about. The underground bank vault that housed all the jewels and money of thousands of customers had, at one point, been the most secure vault in London. But then some muppets in the Mayor's office had decided to build an underground car park right next to it. If someone got their hands on a drill big enough, they could drill right through the wall of the car park and into the vault beside it. The thought had always made him go weak at the knees. Vernon Dursley was rather fond of drills.

Tipping back the whiskey and knowing that he would be home _long_ before the alcohol could take an effect, he shrugged on his security guard's jacket and donned his two favourite items: his torch and his night stick. He trudged out of the kitchenette to the sounds of Petunia fussing over the broken kettle. If there was one thing he liked about his ex-fiancé, it was that she was persistent. Most people, himself included, would hand the problem over to the next person who entered the kitchen. But not Petunia Evans. He admired that about her – her willingness to fix things. And he wasn't going to deny that she was, in the right light, objectively pretty. "Get a hold on yourself, Vernon," he advised himself sternly, "you don't want to marry her. That's over now." Sighing heavily, he plodded off through the foyer of the bank – which was just starting to close – and down the steps to the underground car park. Three more rolling strides and he was there, standing beside the North wall that connected with the bank vault. He looked around. Silence. Just a couple of parked cars and ugly concrete pillars holding the car park up. He turned to leave… and that was when he heard it.

_Eeeeeeeeeeeeeow! Chug chug chug! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeow!_

It sounded like an engine. But one that was going impossibly fast. And one that kept on starting, building up to a great roaring speed before, inexplicably, stopping again. What was going on? Vernon took a step forward, towards the concrete ramp that served as the entrance and exit to the car park. The noise seemed to be coming from that direction.

_Eeeeeeeeeeow! Chug chug chug! EeeeeeeeeeeeeeOW! _

Whatever it was, it was getting closer. A sudden, irrational fear took hold of him and he tried his best to shake it off. Vernon Dursley liked his fears rational – alongside everything else in his life. It was just a car travelling at high speed, he tried to tell himself. But then… why did it keep on stopping and making that awful _chugging_ sound? And why was it so darn _loud_? He fumbled for his radio and was just pressing the button to call for help when a motorbike dropped out of the sky in front of him. It landed on the road before the car park entrance, then glided down the concrete ramp at the speed of a rocket. The man driving the motorbike casually stood up on the leather seat and dived off the moving bike, rolling off onto the car park floor. The bike kept going. And going. It was only then that Vernon realised it was going to crash _right_ into him. With a strangled cry, he sidestepped, feeling the bike whizz past him and ruffle his hair, almost lovingly. And then it hit the wall. There was a series of sparks, a small explosion and an ear-splitting, head-pounding CRASH!

Very slowly, Vernon clambered to his feet. The North wall was shattered. The bike had torn clean through the concrete and brick work. He could see the interior of the vault he had been hired to protect – rows and rows of locked safe-boxes filled with all sorts of unimaginable treasure.

"Good evening." Vernon spun around. The man who had leapt off the motorbike seconds before it had crashed through the wall was standing behind him, hands in his pockets. He was shockingly handsome. He had a mess of coal black hair framing his face and an easy sort of swagger, as though he were the richest man in the world. _Well_, Vernon found himself thinking, _he does own a flying motorbike_. And then he stopped himself thinking any further. The man did _not _own a flying motorbike, for the simple reason that flying motorbikes do not exist. What he had seen when this man and his bike had dropped out of the sky had been a trick of the light.

"And who might you be?" Vernon snapped, recovering himself enough to unfurl his night stick with a snap of his wrist.

"Sirius Black, my dear muggle. I must apologise for the mess," he gestured at the broken masonry all around them. Vernon made a choking noise. This man, this ridiculous man with the ridiculous clothes, was _clearly_ a thief trying to break into the vault.

"AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGHHH!" Vernon cried ferociously, and he launched himself at the man (who dodged easily). But his luck didn't last long. Vernon managed a blow to the face that shattered the man's nose and had just tackled him to the floor when he saw, out of his peripheral vision, the man pull a long, glossy stick out of his pocket.

"Obliviate," the man, Sirius Black, croaked and Vernon stopped fighting instantly.

"I say!" Vernon disentangled himself from the man he was sitting on and stood up with a start. "Oh my!"

"Take it easy, my dear chap." The man he had been sitting on pointed the stick he was holding at his nose, which was gushing blood profusely. He murmured something under his breath, and the flow stopped. Vernon was too confused to question it. He looked around him, taking in the motorbike that had apparently crashed through a wall, and the young man with blood on his white shirt. He blinked. His mind felt like it had been in the airing cupboard for too long, but one thing was clear. He _had _to go find Petunia. He loved her. He wanted to marry her.

"Goodbye!" he called to the young man with the bloody nose. The young man gave him a roughish smile.

"Goodbye, Vernon."

* * *

James Potter worked in the Magical Law Enforcement Division of the Ministry of Magic. He hated the job, but as his wife always said, it was better than nothing. Unlike him, she had never really appreciated his theory that they could earn a living selling broomstick wax. "But Lily," he would say, "Lily my dear! I'd sell the wax and you'd make your peach and pepper chutney and together we'd make _millions_."

"We'd open a shop on Diagon Alley," she would say whenever they discussed this. She liked to indulge him for a while, "And all the girls would fawn over you and I'd never hear the end of it. Go get yourself a real job."

And so he had, indeed, gotten himself a real job in the Ministry of Magic (though he had never quite abandoned his dream of opening a little corner shop and selling broomstick wax with chutney). He liked the job well enough, though the people he worked with were a nightmare.

"James!" It was Dedalus Diggle, the managing director of their small office.

"Yup?" he glanced up from his copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ rubbing his eyes sleepily. It was nine o'clock in the evening and he wanted to go home. Dedalus Diggle seemed to realise this, because he was jumping up and down with excitement.

"You're going to love this one. We have a call! A _call_, James!"

"Really?" he sat up with a start, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "What is it?" Dedalus was practically trembling with anticipation, toying with the rim of his purple top hat.

"_Robbery_," he announced with relish. "A real live _robbery_!"

"Where?"

"In that posh bank on Baker Street." Dedalus scurried into the adjoining office and emerged holding a dusty Cleansweep Seven. "Here you go, m'boy. Martin and I are going to suit up and disapparate there, but we thought that you could fly on over and get there first. You know, as a sort of sneak attack. Oh, it's frightfully exciting!"

James grabbed the broomstick from Dedalus, grinning.

"Cheers."

"Anytime, old bean. Anytime."

"It's at that underground car park beside the bank, is it?" James asked after peering at the report Dedalus had dropped on his desk.

"Yes. We'll meet you there-" But James was already gone, soaring out of the open window on his trusted old broom, off to arrest some magical criminals. He loved to fly. If he couldn't open a shop with his wife, he could still harbour dreams about playing quidditch for England.

Two minutes later, James was at the underground car park, and he wasn't happy.

"Padfoot!" he hissed, staring down at Sirius Black who was sprawled on the floor beside him. His friend's dark hair was tousled and there was a splotch of blood on his white shirt. "What the hell are you doing here?" He helped his friend to his feet and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"I'm just having a look at the sights. Doing the tourist stuff, you know." Sirius shot him an easy smile, smoothing down his waistcoat which glittered with broken glass

"Sirius," James sighed through gritted teeth, "We're in a car park. You're covered in blood and dust and I'm _supposed_ to be chasing a criminal who crashed through a wall into an underground bank vault…" he trailed off, looking around him. The underground car park's north wall was splintered. A gaping hole the size of a man yawned in the middle of it, framed by smoke and twisting wires. He could just make out the shadowy form of the bank vault in the gloom within and… yes, there it was! Sirius's flying motorbike lay besides the wreckage. "Wait a second. _You're _the criminal!" James gasped, running his fingers through his hair in amazement. He shot a quick glance behind him. They were still alone. He had arrived by broomstick so had arrived on the scene first, but the rest of the team, doddery old Dedalus Diggle and the Martin the vampire, would surely be arriving soon. He didn't even hesitate. "Padfoot old friend, I have no idea what you were doing but you need to get out of here."

"What?" Sirius looked amused, "Why? And what exactly is a _car park_?"

"It's where muggles park their cars." James snapped, glancing over his shoulder again. "Honestly, Sirius, you need to get out of here. I'm part of the Magical Law Enforcement Division. I'm here to arrest you."

"Oh, so you got the job, then?" Sirius was practically beaming. He wiped a hand coated in brick dust clean on his trousers and proffered it towards his friend. James shook it. "I'm so happy for you, Prongs. We must get back in touch! How about we meet at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink some time?"

"Yes, I'd love to." James strode over and yanked Sirius's motorbike up from where it lay discarded on the ground. The front was completely mangled, but the engine seemed to be intact. "What the hell did you _do_, Padfoot? Drive this thing headlong into the wall?"

"I crashed." Sirius looked sheepish, "Wasn't paying attention. How was _I_ supposed to know that there was a bank vault filled with muggle money right behind the wall?" The way he said it was innocent enough, but James knew his friend. The words were mocking, slightly sarcastic. For a horrible moment, it began to dawn on him that perhaps Sirius really _had_ been trying to steal the money in the vault. If he, a member of the Magical Law Enforcement, hadn't been called when the 'obliviate' spell had been uttered, then Sirius would have been free to help himself to the cash. _Should he let Sirius go?_ But then he heard sirens sound from down the road and he made up his mind.

"Get on your bike and leave, Padfoot. I won't say anything to my colleagues. But if I _ever_ catch you stealing again, mate, I'm not going to let you off."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," said Sirius with a grin. He was sitting on his flying motorbike now, a bright red helmet perched jauntily on his head. The front of the bike, previously a twisted mess, was now as good as new. Sirius must have fixed it with magic. He always had been good with charms. "So how about that drink, eh? Tomorrow at noon?"

"I'll be there," promised James.

"Tell Lily I love her and Harry he's beautiful," Sirius kick started the engine, then paused, "No, I got that the wrong way round…"  
"Just _go, _Padfoot!" James almost yelled, exasperated. His nerves were frayed. He could hear Dedalus Diggle and Martin approaching the car park, no doubt with their wands drawn, ready for danger. They had disapparated halfway down the road, as was protocol. How Sirius could be so calm in the face of the law, he would never know.

"Goodnight, Mr Potter," Sirius tipped his helmet at James and (finally) roared off up the ramp and out of the car park, just as Dedalus and Martin rounded the corner, both of them bent double.

"One… two… three!" James heard Dedalus wheeze, a split second before he and Martin pounced out of the shadows.

"YOU'RE UNDER ARREST- oh, it's _you_ James, old bean!"

"Did you see them? Did you see where they went?" Martin swooped off to James' left, eyeing the massive hole in the wall and performing several sweeping turns that caused his cloak to flare out behind him. James rolled his eyes. _Bloody vampires. _

"I didn't see anything, Martin," he said, placing a hand on Martin's shoulder. The pale twenty something was now sniffing the air like a bloodhound – despite the fact that a vampire's sense of smell was no better than a wizard's. "The place was empty when I got here." The lie slipped off his tongue uneasily, but the others didn't seem to notice it.

"Oh that's a pity. That's a very pretty pity." Dedalus mumbled, producing a large camera from the folds of his robes and snapping a picture of the mammoth hole in the wall. James coughed as swirls of purple smoke billowed out from the camera. "How about we get some supper?" Dedalus suggested croakily.

"Yes. Back to base we go! Back to base, I say!" Martin announced, flapping his cloak so that it looked like he had a pair of giant bat wings.

"Alright," James sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was still thinking about Sirius Black. He had disgraced his office and position by letting him go like that. _Had he done the right thing?_ "I could _really_ use a spot of tea."

* * *

**Hey everyone, this is my first venture into the world of Harry Potter fanfic, so please read and review! I would love to hear your comments! **


	2. Chapter 2

Lily Potter brushed her hair out of her eyes and smoothed her skirt. She looked a mess and she knew it. Her red hair was in disarray – even though she had tried her best to contain it in a ponytail, and her shirt had pasta sauce on it.

"Removio," she murmured, grabbing her wand from where she had left it in the fruit bowl and flicking it absentmindedly. The stain dissipated, turning into golden dust that flavoured the air with the slightest hint of basil. "Right," she grabbed her car keys, mentally preparing herself for what was about to come.

She was going to parents' evening at Harry's school. Meeting her seven year old son's teachers was bound to be interesting, simply because they were muggles. Lily was good with muggles. She had lived amongst them long enough to understand how they thought, and even though she had spent much of her life amongst wizards, she still knew enough to blend in without too much hassle.

Over the years she had grown very good at matching jeans with tops and sorting out her hair so that it looked decent without a pointed hat to hide it. It helped that she was muggle-born. At least she _knew_ what jeans were and why electricity was used in the home – unlike her husband, James, who still insisted on reading by candlelight – "I've done it all my life, Pond Lily, I'm not stopping now!"

She could never decide if she hated her nickname or loved it. Adding the word 'Pond' to her name was hardly endearing, but it opened the floodgates for a whole host of frog related jokes – and who didn't enjoy an analogy that made one a princess and one's husband a frog their kiss can transform? James the frog and his beautiful Pond Lily; it was their private, magical joke. Even through everyone knew that the muggle story of frogs turning into princes came from muggles accidentally witnessing animagi.

She sighed, suddenly missing Hogwarts and Professor McGonagall, her animagus transfiguration teacher. The castle was her childhood in a nutshell and she missed its ethereal archways and walking suits of armour. It saddened her more than anything else in the world that Harry would never get to see the place.

Harry had been born a squib – a genetic anomaly. A child without magic born from magical parents. Hogwarts had refused to accept him, despite all the QuickSpell courses and imploring letters to Dumbledore, despite the years she had spent campaigning throughout Harry's childhood for Equal Rights for Squibs.

It had been a dark day when they had decided to send Harry to a muggle school. Dark, in the literal sense of the word. She remembered how the rain had lashed against the windows of their cottage in Godric's Hollow, how the wind had clawed its way down the chimney, threatening to choke the fire.

"James, we need to send him to a muggle school." There. She said it. Her husband looked at her, eyebrows raised. He was in the middle of connecting their brand new telephone to the ceiling, ("how else are we going to get any signal, dear?") and was perched precariously on a step ladder. His Cleansweep Seven was hovering nearby, and every so often he would touch it to keep his balance.

"Are you sure? You want to send him to a… a _muggle _school?"

"Yes," she placed her knitting needles down with a clack. "Harry is nearly four years old. Hogwarts has made it clear that they're not going to accept him when he turns eleven, and I'll be damned, _damned_ James, if our son doesn't receive and education."

"Do muggles even have schools?" he asked, a smile twitching his lips.

"Of course they do! They're not cavemen!"

"Alright. Alright."

And so it had been decided. Magic at home, muggle life at school. They would teach Harry quidditch _and _football. He would know arithmancy and arithmetic, and be taught simple charms as well as the laws of gravity. Their son would get, quite literally, the best of both worlds.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Lily found herself doubting once again their decision of three years ago to send Harry to a muggle school when she walked through the double doors and sat herself down on a chair in the foyer. Parents of other seven year olds were all around her, watching.

"Miss? Miss, you need to sign in." Lily started humming to herself, wondering who the receptionist was talking to.

"Miss? Miss Potter?" She looked up with a start.

"Yes?"

"You need to sign in, dear."

"Oh." Conscious that everyone in the room was staring at her, Lily got up and approached the receptionist. She produced a quill out of her pocket and an inkpot from her handbag, and signed her name on the register with a flourish. "There you go," she beamed down at the receptionist, who looked quite affronted, and sat back down on her chair.

"Hey." A young man – single dad, by the looks of it, sidled over to sit next to her. "Do you have a name, beautiful?"

She raised her eyebrows at him, swishing her red hair back from her shoulders.

"I do have a name, as do most people. And it isn't a beautiful one."

"No, I meant that _you're_ beautiful…"

"Mrs Potter?" Harry's teacher poked his head around the door of his classroom. "Mrs Potter, are you ready for our appointment?" She stood up, brushed down her jeans (which were stained with multi-coloured droplets from the time her Window Cleaning Potion had exploded) and smiled.

"I'm ready." Leaving the single dad blushing behind her – no doubt realising his mistake flirting with a married woman – she entered the classroom and sat down on a ridiculously small chair opposite Harry's teacher.

He cut straight to the chase.

"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Mrs Potter. Your son is involved in an illegal crime ring. He's selling items on the black market."

* * *

James arrived at the Leaky Cauldron first. He headed straight for the bar and ordered a butterbeer from Tom, the bartender.

"Afternoon, Officer." Tom winked, plonking down his drink on the sticky surface of the bar. It amused Tom to no end that James had become a member of the Magical Law Enforcement ("and after all the time he spent loungin' in 'ere, drinkin' underage and causin' trouble."). James couldn't blame him. Sometimes it amused him, too.

"How are you, Tom?" He asked, casting a glance around the pub with a practiced eye. Two hags were sitting by the fire, ripping meat off an unidentifiable carcass. Three elderly witches sat right next to them, sipping tea and looking disgruntled. A few warlocks were watching the quidditch by sticking their heads down the fire and allowing the Floo Network to take them where the game was. Every so often they would shout with delight and perform a celebratory leg twitch. There was no immediate danger. The pub was safe.

"I'm alright, James, I'm alright." Tom swiped his cleaning rag through a puddle on the bar, grinning toothlessly all the while. "And yourself? How's Lily? How's young Harry?"

"They're fine. Lily's actually gone to see Harry's teachers today, else she would be here too. Something the muggles call… parent's evening? Yes, I think that was it. It's where the parents get a chance to meet the professors, and the professors get the chance to tell us how our kids are doing." He realised that Tom had been staring at him, open mouthed, all the while he had been speaking. "What's wrong?"

"Did ya… did ya say _muggles_?"

"Yes," said James evenly, not liking where this was going.

"Why is Harry in school? He's only…"

"Seven."

"He's only seven! Hogwarts doesn't enrol until they're eleven."

"Tom." James set down his butterbeer, amazed that the bartender, usually so well-tuned to the gossip of the wizarding world, didn't know this, "My son is a squib. We've sent him to a muggle school."

There was a very awkward silence. Tom busied himself with the bar, scrubbing repeatedly at a glass goblet that was already perfectly clean.

"Well?" James asked, finally. "Didn't you know?"

"I'd… I'd heard _rumours_. We'd all heard the _rumours_. But I dismissed it as some sort of sick, twisted joke, I did! James and Lily's son, a squib? Preposterous!" James felt the anger beginning to boil inside him. He encountered this sort of response every once in a while. For some reason, people hated squibs. They were scared of them. They treated them like second class citizens, even worse than the muggles and those who weren't born of pureblood. But he hadn't expected this from _Tom_.

"I'll have you know that my son is extraordinarily bright. He's the top of his class and he's an avid reader. I doubt that there's a book in the magical or muggle world that he hasn't read. His potions are superb and he is a natural born quidditch player. Better even than I was! My son is ten times a better wizard than you are, and although he can't use a wand for charms or transfiguration, it doesn't mean you have the right to exercise superiority. Lily has been campaigning for Equal Rights for Squibs for _just _this reason, to get obnoxious people like you to recognise that squibs are wizards too-"

Tom smirked coldly at him.

"Better than me, eh? Can your precious _squib_ of a son do this?" and with a click of his fingers, the fire in the grate went out. The warlocks with their heads in the fire screamed in terror as they were sucked fully into the Floo Network, and James spared a moment's thought of worry about where they would end up. They hadn't offered a destination.

"You see, James? A squib is not a wizard. A squib isn't part of our community – they serve no purpose in our society! Your son is worthless."

It was the final straw. James lifted his mug of butterbeer, ready to hit Tom around the head with it, but then a noise made him pause. The doors to the Leaky Cauldron were shaking, as though someone was pounding on them from the outside. One of the three doddery witches drinking tea hobbled over to open them.

"No!" he shouted, suddenly apprehensive, "That's not a good idea-"

But it was too late. The witch threw the doors open and Sirius Black burst into the pub, out of breath and soaked to the skin, eyes flickering frantically. He shot into the room like a freight train, skidded around on his heel and threw himself back against the doors. He had almost got them closed when a huge boot appeared in the doorframe and a man wrestled his way into the Leaky Cauldron. A woman, who looked like the leader, and a team of gun wielding muggles dressed head to toe in black body armour stormed in after them.

"POLICE! Freeze!"

Sirius dived for cover. The hags screeched and disapparated. One of the witches fell off her chair with an explosion of curses. Tom looked from Sirius, to James, to the muggle Metropolitan Police Force standing in his magical pub, the one place the muggles couldn't set foot in.

"Afternoon, Officers."

* * *

**Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to hear your comments, so please feel free to drop me a review! **:)


End file.
